Thus
far tonight, despite the dagger, there has been no blood—just his
mouth on mine and his probing thoughts. You are sure? comes
his question, as clear as if he’d spoken aloud. I’ve become
accustomed to his presence in my mind, the quiet authority that
soothes me on the rare occasions when fleeting terror breaks through
my lassitude.

I
cannot nod—my muscles no longer obey me—but I mentally broadcast
my assent. Even now, after all our encounters, I am not certain who
he is, what limits he may have, how dangerous he could be. That
doesn’t matter. I’d never refuse him.

His
kiss sucks the breath from my lungs and the energy from my limbs,
leaving me gloriously weak. Liquid pleasure ripples through my
languid flesh, flowing in to replace the restless hunger that
normally animates my body. I sink into the clean, sunshine-smelling
sheets. My pulse sluggish, my breath stuttering, I close my eyes and
let myself drown in that intoxicating kiss.

The
world grows fuzzy, yet every sensation is heightened. His skin is
silken. His mouth is hot as the sun, wet as rain. Tonight he smells
of summer flowers and January snow. His hands roam over my nakedness
as he kisses me, stroking, coaxing, delicate but insistent. Each
touch is an invitation to release a bit more of my self to him.

When
he finally stretches out on top of me, I am barely breathing. My
heart beats no more than a dozen times per minute. I should be
unconscious, my life hanging by a thread. Instead I’m acutely aware
of him—the pressure of his hairless chest against my breasts, his
winter scent. That, and the ripples of phantom bliss I feel despite
my paralysis.

Then
Z slides his cock into the hungry void between my sprawled thighs.
Fire streaks through me. Answering energy surges back to him in a
delicious, dizzy rush. I’d thought I was close to depleted, but I’m
wrong. I have more, much more to give.

Z’s
fingers might be gentle, but he wields his cock with all the brutal
force I crave. Even in my debilitated state, I find myself close to
climax as he pounds my cunt. He hovers over me, supporting himself on
his arms, skewering me again and again. I’m far too weak to clench
my muscles and hold him inside, but my slick folds cling to his cock
as he withdraws before each savage thrust. Each time he enters my
flesh, he takes more of me.

I
surrender gladly, rejoicing in my weakness. Never have I felt so
utterly helpless. Possessed, overwhelmed, almost erased. It’s
terrifying and thrilling, desperately erotic. My sight is dim, but
still I see his eyes, glowing above me as though lit from within by
blue-green flame. No smile softens his features, not even now as his
cock pulses in my paralyzed depths and his rhythm grows ragged. My
surrender excites him. The knowledge that I please him, that I
fulfill his needs as he does mine, floods me with a tingling warmth.